


A Spot of Action

by EntreNous



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike and Wes charge out to take care of a prophesied demon, only to find Angel's left them at loose ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spot of Action

Wesley made to turn the key in the ignition when a hand clasped his shoulder, halting him. His other hand quickly poised to pull out his gun, but when he saw who it was, he exhaled in exasperation. “Spike, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Here, now. You’re going to borrow the poof’s car?” Spike ran his hands along the convertible with a proprietary air. “You know, you can’t just drive off and tell him someone else must have lost it. He checks.”

“Listen to me,” Wesley said. “There’s a prophecy -- the calendars we used to calculate a particular demon’s rising were off, and now there’s no time. Angel’s unreachable, and this _must_ be stopped.”

Spike shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “In need of a champion and want me to come along, eh? Might do.”

Wesley’s jaw dropped. “I asked you no such thing. I’m off to take care of this myself.”

Spike shrugged and suddenly he was at the other side of the car, jumping in without bothering to open the door. “If I kill this by myself, you owe me beer.”

Wesley shook his head, but started the car. There was no time to waste.

* * *

“I can’t believe he took care of it with a Wolfram & Hart team of assassins, and told me nothing of it!”

Spike had phoned in to the offices and discovered why the two of them were faced with an empty alley and no demon. Since then, Wesley had been going on about how Angel should have let him know he was going to let his killer squad do the dirty work, how Angel didn’t respect that Wesley was the one who was the head of research, how Angel had started to go too far in the way he simply assumed he could order them about without letting them in on his plans.

Spike leaned against a wall, regarded the spot of slime on the ground that was the only evidence of the monster that had been killed, and lit a cigarette while Wesley fumed.

“You about done?” Spike asked finally.

After a beat, Wesley walked towards the car.

“Hey, you don’t have to throw in,” Spike called after him as he followed. “There’s still the chance to buy me beer.”

* * *

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Wesley grumbled as they got second pints from the bartender and walked to their booth.

“Because the only plans you had for the night probably involved sitting up and reading about some other prophecy that Angel’s going to stop without telling you.”

Wesley’s jaw tightened. “When I worked without Angel, I got plenty done without him.”

“I’m sure you did,” Spike said. “Now. You want a spot of action still?”

Wesley looked up slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

“That was never the last leg you said we’d play,” Spike protested.

“Just because I have been trouncing you on every game of darts doesn’t mean I’m obligated to keep on until you redeem yourself,” Wesley murmured.

Spike made several gestures, all of them obscene. “Right, I want the chance to prove myself.” He held out his hand. “Give them here. No, no. Wait. I’ll get another round first.”

When Spike returned with the brimming glasses, Wesley took his and drained off a third of his ale.

“Just say the word if you want another,” Spike said gruffly.

“Why, Spike.” Wesley smiled and then turned to throw a perfect arc, hitting the center with ease. “Are you trying to throw my game, just so you won’t have to be humiliated by another of my ton-eighties?”

Spike cocked his head to the side, and took position to throw. “No,” he answered at last, staring at his dart embedded in the wall. “Might be trying to get a leg over, though.”

Wesley choked on his next swallow.

“What? I’m _bored_.” Spike scowled. “I lost my lighter back at the alley, so I can’t even smoke to take the edge off of being beaten at darts by the head boy. Besides, you’re not half-bad. And the place is empty enough -- we could just head to the back, and --”

“Thank you,” Wesley said dryly once he stopped coughing and laughing at the same time. “As tempting as that offer is--”

Spike drew himself up and thrust his chin out. “Come on.” He took Wesley’s drink out of his hand, and then tugged him back towards the men’s room.

When he pushed Wesley up against the wall, he said, “You know, this isn’t just because I lost my lighter.”

“Well, that makes it ever so much better,” Wesley began to say, but Spike cut him off with a hard kiss.


End file.
